


WE’RE GONNA STEAL THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE AND ALSO ABOUT SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT HEARTS EACH

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Freeform, M/M, Other, nightclub bathrooms and motel carparks and dirty bathtubs oh my, projecting????? idk her, tw for uh. a lot of stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 18:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: taeyong watches the other man’s shoulders roll and shake and twist and it makes his breath taste hilariously like the club, like the disgusting sweet spoiled butter of love, like desperation, like We’re Going to Die anyway. what’s the difference between desperation in pain and desperation in lust? he doesn’t think he knows. he thinks he might be fucked up. he thinks all he can do is sit here on the grimed, exhausted tile of the too-hot bathroom and breathe while this man with bleach-blond hair spreads eerily gentle kisses over his neck, his fingers clutching at his bones, both their ribs caving in not from outside pressure but from inside. his is love and his is need. his is love and his is need





	WE’RE GONNA STEAL THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE AND ALSO ABOUT SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT HEARTS EACH

1\. taeyong watches the other man’s shoulders roll and shake and twist and it makes his breath taste hilariously like the club, like the disgusting sweet spoiled butter of love, like desperation, like We’re Going to Die anyway. what’s the difference between desperation in pain and desperation in lust? he doesn’t think he knows. he thinks he might be fucked up. he thinks all he can do is sit here on the grimed, exhausted tile of the too-hot bathroom and breathe while this man with bleach-blond hair spreads eerily gentle kisses over his neck, his fingers clutching at his bones, both their ribs caving in not from outside pressure but from inside. his is love and his is need. _his_ is love and _his_ is need. he’s at home now, sitting writhing on the floor now, in a t-shirt and boxers and crying for god knows what.  
the difference is in how it’s delivered.

2\. for most of his life, taeyong has accepted that anger is, probably, all he will need. this works soundly enough until happiness enters the equation and anger is off balance and falling in love. he thinks he might want to get in a fight with happiness and he thinks he might want to grab a handful of happiness’s hair at the nape of its neck and haul it in for a biting kiss. maybe both. maybe neither. maybe anger and happiness can read in bed together. maybe anger and happiness can fall asleep on the couch. maybe the fizzing, popping thing in his chest is both of them combined and doesn’t have to be one or the other.

3\. he has been nothing for a long time and he doesn’t plan on changing that. he won’t become somebody just so they can press affection behind his ears and on the underside of his jaw where his mask ends and (something that might have been) a human (once) begins. there is a trail of bodies behind him like footsteps and even if they have blood on their hands he will be the one to burn this city down. he has told them. they will not listen. they have kissed him full on the mouth and smiled while doing it.

4\. alcohol is the only thing taeyong is certain the beast eats. it consumes gin and vodka and beer, fancy mixed drinks with olives and cans from the back of the fridge. everything. he hasn’t found anything else to feed it. narcotics make it sick and antidepressants hop it up, which is fun until it takes his arm into its mouth and applies pressure. lion taming isn’t any good when the lion isn’t tame and lives in your shadow. he’s always been waiting for it to knock the chair out of his hands and tear the whip apart with its teeth.

5\. he’s up all night again thinking about how many people he would die for. he counts over and over the amount with his fingers and tally marks and he writes the names on the pad of paper he keeps by the bed. he burns the list later because he can’t look at it anymore, because there are five names at the top he doesn’t want there

6\. he is a snarling wild thing beneath his skin and he hopes they don’t know but they do. it’s fine. all of them are snarling wild things on the surface, anyway

7\. there is someone in the other room, he thinks, but taeyong's sweating and crying in the bathtub and preoccupied. they are humming. he doesn’t know the tune. his mind turns down roads that all lead to the same hunger. shoulders snap stiffly as they hunch inwards towards his heart and it is a belated realization that they are his. he is so thirsty but the tap is too far away and he is trapped on the road. he can’t turn on the faucet while he’s driving. he is humming. its mozart, he realizes, and passes out. his dreams are white and powdered and he really wishes they weren’t at this point. the mozart is colourful against the backdrop. it’s a little out of tune.

8\. he has been nothing for a long time and now he’s somebody that plays video games until 4 AM and eats actual food for breakfast and sleeps on the leftmost side of the bed or one body away every night. he’s forgotten where his hollowness has gone. he isn't looking for it too hard.

9\. he is in a hotel room somewhere far away from the only people he has ever loved, thinking about disappearing. he probably won’t do it, but he likes to theorize. his arms are full of flowers and his purse is on its side on the bed, contents spilled like a man in an alley. tissues, water bottle, chapstick, grenade. he places each item carefully in the bottom of the bag, handling the remnants of caring with kid gloves. mona lisa, botticelli, girl with the pearl earring, pollock. he is in a hotel room not that far from the only people he has ever loved and forgetting he ever thought about disappearing

10\. he was going to die anyway. he was always going to die. they were going to go down in flames and he will follow them into hell and the populace will breathe a sigh of relief. they always promised together. together, them and the city. them and the world. when they die, they will bring god with them, and they'll hold hands as they bleed out, and they will smear each others blood on the pavement and faces and their hands when they kiss. it will be how it has always been. it will be a continuation.

30: WE’RE GONNA STEAL THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE AND ALSO ABOUT SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT HEARTS EACH

**Author's Note:**

> so uh. yeah. tell me what you thought in the comments and leave kudos if you liked it i guess. or don't. it's up to you


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